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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312718">we’ll be alright (i'm the one who loves you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlees/pseuds/softlees'>softlees</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actor!DK, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Homecoming, M/M, and as always, being annoying as a love language, boo seungkwan emotional kpop boy, booseok is very important to me in here, challenge: how many times i use brat throughout, dance instructor!dino, i just think seokchan are two very good dudes who are very good for each other, or huffs, or laughs, seokchan!!! them!!, weeekly monday makes her debut here too ;;; caratdailees &lt;3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlees/pseuds/softlees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you remember Lee Chan?” Seungkwan asks into the receiver, voice hesitant.</p><p>Seokmin starts at the name, sparking memory like wildfire. Lee Chan, three years his junior. They said he’d be the biggest thing to come out of this town. From time to time, Seokmin finds him wondering about him, the other golden boy, their precious child. Wonders what he had gone on to do, what he decided to make of himself. If he’s doing alright. </p><p>Does Seokmin know Lee Chan? </p><p>Of course he does. He’d be a fool not to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Chan | Dino/Lee Seokmin | DK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>DK's Birthday Bash!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we’ll be alright (i'm the one who loves you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy dk &amp; dino day!!! if u squint a little i even cameo'd vernon in here. i love my silly aquariuses. wow if you really think about it all of maknae line made it in here no i do not have favorites what. </p><p>i'm so glad i got to do this and finish this in time for chan's birthday too, a little bit nervous because this is [self-projection] [tenderisms] [blatant dk + dino-isms] wrapped into one, and my first seokchan fic in the 4 years i've loved them but yeah!!! i hope i've done them justice!!! and hopefully i can recruit more seokchanists to the cause &gt;:)</p><p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/03rAIc5AXJHhmNZ4JuLH0Y?si=1_WQrNKgSf2ea5Mtz1bHFg">optional soundtrack</a> that spurred me to write all 12k of this [made by ki!]. title is ripped completely from maggie rogger's dog days, bc i think it's the type of song that i want my fics to feel like. especially this one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lights are blinding when he steps off the runway. </p><p>Seokmin winces at the onslaught of bright flashes, camera shutters and blatant idolatry, shielding his hand against his eyes as the wind buffets him. His best-friend-turned-manager, Seungkwan, bundles him out the door with fluttering hands and hands out sharp derisive remarks to any paparazzi who get too close. </p><p>Seokmin grinds his teeth at the reporters’ insistent calls, their want for his attention, hands flapping and gesticulating to their camera lens. He knew he should have worn sunglasses today. He smiles meekly and waves a hand in greeting.</p><p>“DK-oppa! Dokyeom-ssi!”</p><p>“Smile for the camera, won’t you, sweetie?”</p><p>He indulges them. Sweetie isn’t the worst thing he’s been called. </p><p>A car drives up before they can ask for anything more, blocking off Seokmin’s line of sight from the piranhas, paparazzi hungry for blood. He can hear their groans of disappointment, but by then Seokmin is no longer <em> Lee Dokyeom, </em>the world-famous, award winning actor with a handsome face to rival Korea’s finest and vocal talents to put them all to shame, one of the brightest stars the entertainment industry has ever seen. </p><p>Here, in the backseat of a beat-up 2010 Hyundai Sonata that has definitely seen better days, he is just Lee Seokmin. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>“Well, aren’t you a sad sight for poor eyes,” a voice says from the passenger seat, in a way that only Xu Minghao can. It’s sharp and wry, but rounded out at the edges, full of endearment and derision. </p><p>“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Mingyu grins toothily at him in the mirror, one arm blindly reaching back to muss up Seokmin’s hair, the other steady on the wheel. “Hm, what do you think, Minghao? I think he’s gotten even older since the last time we’ve seen him.” </p><p>“Oh, definitely,” Minghao doesn’t miss a beat, laughing all the while. “Age <em> has </em> hit you in the face.”</p><p>Seokmin can’t help but grin, swatting playfully at the backs of their heads. It’s good to be home.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>They stop by his house first, which had been a home to all of them, once upon a time. It feels like ages and ages ago. Some things don’t change, though, some habits just too hard to kick, and Seokmin’s is the filthiest of them all: he is a momma’s boy, through and through. </p><p>“<em> Ach, </em> Seokmin-ah, you didn’t tell me you were coming!”  His mom smacks him on the arm when she swings open the door, gently enough that it doesn’t hurt but urgent enough to let him know that she’s a little miffed. “I don’t have enough dinner prepared, how am I supposed to feed all of you?”</p><p>She tries to glare up at him, but it’s negated by the beaming smile spreading across her face as she drinks in the sight of him. </p><p>“Love you too, <em> eomma </em>,” He chuckles, instinct kicking in as he sweeps her into a giant hug in the midst of their foyer, tucks her tight against his heart. </p><p>“Hi <em> eomeoni </em>,” Minghao and Mingyu both chorus joyously from outside the door, shedding their shoes and their coats as they step inside, patiently await their turn. </p><p>“Stop that, silly. I’m not going anywhere,” his mom pulls away from their embrace, one gentle hand on Seokmin’s forearm. She chides him softly, but it’s all fond, no bark or bite. “We’ve got guests, Seokmin-ah.”</p><p>“But I’ve missed you,” Seokmin pouts. </p><p>She laughs, bright and brilliant. “If you’ve missed me so much, my precious son, why has it been so long since I’ve seen you?”</p><p>Mingyu and Minghao take this as their cue, each stepping forward to dutifully planting a kiss on either side of his mother’s cheek. </p><p>Seokmin doesn’t have anything to say to that, the shame and guilt swelling in his chest. Has it really been that long? He knows she’s joking but he twists his hands nervously in his shirt, guilt rearing its ugly head again. Seokmin might be an acclaimed actor to the world, but here, in his childhood home, surrounded by all the things that anchor him to his youth, time reveals that he hasn’t grown up at all, that nothing’s changed. He is a kid all over again. Just his mother’s son.</p><p>“Our Seokmin’s a busy man, <em> eomeoni </em>,” Minghao teases, but his smile betrays the sentiment, lets Seokmin know he couldn’t be prouder. </p><p>“Yeah,” Mingyu agrees. “All those schedules, one after another. He’s barely got time to call <em> us </em> these days.”</p><p>“I know that,” his mom heaves a big theatrical sigh. “But it can’t hurt to come around more often, I’m only getting older these days.”</p><p>Seokmin shakes himself out of it, easy grin coming out of its confines. “You only ever have to turn on the TV if you miss me, <em> eomma. </em>I’ll be there.”</p><p>“Yah,” Mingyu’s eyes widen, amazed. “Isn’t he so confident now?”</p><p>Minghao prods him with a finger teasingly. “What happened to our shy Seokminnie, the one who used to get all flustered with stage-fright?”</p><p>“He grew up, that’s what,” his mother beams up at Seokmin, eyes brimming with warmth and love and all the other affections that mothers always seem to have in multitudes. She lands another smacking kiss on his cheek for good measure. “Now,” she says, turning to face them, hands on her hips, “don’t make me bully you three into joining us for lunch. Come in, come in!”</p><p>Seokmin laughs, and follows his mother to the same kitchen table that’s haunted their dining room for as long as he can remember, this hulking beast with so many scratches on the legs and even more stains littered across the surface, years past its expiration date. He’s offered to buy his mother a new one a thousand times over, but every single time he brings up the topic she refuses, waves him off with a smile and a, “<em>Don’t be ridiculous, you should save your money instead of spending it on me</em>”. </p><p>Seokmin thinks he gets it when he sees what’s waiting in store for him. His unofficial but official spot at the dinner table (nestled in right next to his sister, across from his mother) lies untouched, all the dishes arranged carefully around it: a memorial for the living, grieving a son who left home. Waiting for someone to come back, to occupy the space again, to breathe life back into it. </p><p>“I had a feeling,” his mother says fondly as she passes, setting a plate down for him. </p><p>“Thanks, <em> eomma</em>,” he dips his head, returning her smile gratefully, echoing Minghao and Mingyu. Seokmin sits down where he always used to be and reaches for the chopsticks. His diet can always begin tomorrow. </p><p> </p><p>—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>They finally make it out of his house by five in the afternoon, the sun already threatening to dip low in the sky, bellies full and hearts light. Seokmin feels a little too big for his body today, clumsy with feeling, his happiness threatening to spill and flow over the edges. </p><p>It’s a feeling he hasn’t known he’s missed for a while. Time runs away from him when he keeps busy, pilling on project after project after. He forgets to check in every now and then. </p><p>That’s why Seungkwan prescribed this vacation, forcibly clearing schedules, postponing appearances and pushing back interviews to make it happen. <em> Flames that burn too bright burn out if they’re not tended to, </em>he’d said, pushing the plane ticket into Seokmin’s hand. He’d offered a way out. Seokmin had leapt to take it.</p><p>Seokmin has never been more grateful. </p><p>He can’t keep himself contained, hands stretching towards Mingyu and Minghao, searching for things to hold onto and things to anchor himself on, tethering himself to this moment. They laugh but grant him the permission nonetheless, melting into familiarity; a fond hand on the back of the neck, arms looped surely through one another. Their footsteps all carry the same tune. You never quite forget the people who raised you. </p><p>Minghao’s giggle spirals upwards towards the sky, Mingyu laughing alongside him. Seokmin misses the punchline but joins in anyways, because his joy gets contagious when the days are good. It wants nothing more than to be shared and spread out in the open, to run wild and free, away from the pretenses and the weights and the pressures that weigh him down sometimes. </p><p>So Seokmin lets loose. Sets himself free. Sets the scene alight, and watches it paint the moment gold.</p><p>(It’s so unbelievably good to be home.)</p><p><br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He drops Mingyu and Minghao off after a long night of drinking, their faces flushed, all of them a little bit more drunk than they’d like to admit, especially after only being able to down half of what they’d used to be able to at 18. </p><p>Since drinks were on Seokmin, Mingyu had taken the initiative, downright ambitious in seeing how many drinks he could consume and/or order, refusing to use their age (which wasn’t too bad at 25) as an excuse to stop. Seokmin wasn’t a lightweight by any means, but he’d simply lost the fortitude to keep up with Mingyu by the third round of drinks. By their fourth, Minghao was already snoring into the crook of his elbow, head slumped over the table.</p><p>The night had snapped off there, reality coming to settle in and pull the plug on the dreamy tinge of nostalgia. Excuses had been offered, mentions of jobs to attend to in the morning, menial tasks they’d have to run before they went to sleep, but Seokmin had waved them off with a well-mannered grin. </p><p>He’d seen it coming. Like all good things, the night would have to come to an end, and that he’d have to face the town on his own soon enough.</p><p>Coming back to home feels strange, foreign and familiar all at once, like someone’s taken the time to rearrange all the furniture in his absence, piece by piece. He’s struggling to place things together, trying to look through the foggy eyepiece of memory to see if everything is exactly like he remembered or not, reconciling what <em> was </em> with what <em> is </em> now. Trying to see where he fits into the grand scheme of things. If he fits at all.</p><p><em> It’s not the place that’s changed, Seokmin-ah</em>, Minghao had said to him, his eyes undeniably kind, with a level of clarity that four drinks always seems to get him to. <em> It’s you</em>. </p><p>Seokmin goes to sleep terribly alone that night, plagued by the thought.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He wakes up to his phone buzzing insistently.</p><p>“Whazzup,” he says groggily into the receiver. </p><p>“Do you remember Lee Chan?” Seungkwan asks into the receiver, voice hesitant. </p><p>Seokmin starts at the name, sparking memory like wildfire. Lee Chan, three years his junior. They said he’d be the biggest thing to come out of this town. From time to time, Seokmin finds him wondering about him, the other golden boy, their precious child. Wonders what he had gone on to do, what he decided to make of himself. If he’s doing alright. </p><p>Does Seokmin know Lee Chan? </p><p>Of course he does. He’d be a fool not to. </p><p>But what he manages to croak out is nothing more than, “Vaguely.”</p><p>“Really?” Seungkwan huffs. “I talk about Chan all the time. He’s like, my best friend.”</p><p>This is also true. Seokmin knows Chan in this way. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend, tangible in concept, but Seokmin only has this vague idea floating in his mind whenever Chan’s name comes up, a ghost of a face. He’s always been someone Seokmin has heard about in stories, someone who only exists on the tips of tongues and in passing thoughts. They’ve always been in each other’s periphery, though the strength of their orbits has never dictated collision, not powerful enough to make them meet.  </p><p>“I thought <em> I </em> was your best friend,” Seokmin sniffs at the betrayal, hands already on their way remove that title from Seungkwan’s contact. He keeps the emoji — a tiny little tangerine — as testament to their 12 years of friendship, but nothing more.</p><p>Seokmin can practically hear Seungkwan’s eye roll. “You are. But you also pay my bills, so. You could say there’s a conflict of interest here.”</p><p>“Is that a problem?” Seokmin asks innocently, but they both know better than that. “I can always contact Jeonghan-hyung to change that for you.”</p><p>Seungkwan huffs once again, exasperated. “You’re such a brat.”</p><p>“Like you’re any better,” Seokmin shoots back. </p><p>“<em>Bleh.</em>”</p><p>“Did you just stick out your tongue at me?”</p><p>“No,” the answer comes quickly, on the defensive, which means Seungkwan totally was. “Anyways,” Seungkwan says, clearing his throat for dramatic effect, “the real reason why I called is because I have to ask you a favor.”  </p><p>Seokmin is very comfortable where he is in bed. It’d be a crime to leave it. But because he knows that Seungkwan loathes asking favors, and because Seokmin is a very good friend, he leaves the door open. “Which is?”</p><p>“I know it’s your vacation and all,” Seungkwan starts, and that’s when Seokmin knows quality time with his bed is doomed for today. “But I was wondering if you would mind helping Chan out at the old dance studio. He runs it now, all by himself, and he’d asked me to help out beforehand when he found out that I was coming home, but Hansol surprised me with our anniversary celebration out of the blue today.” </p><p>Seungkwan sounds annoyed, but it’s only an aftereffect of things being sprung on him at the last minute. Seokmin knows he’s excited. A break for him also means a break for Seungkwan, and if he’s being very honest, those don’t come around too often.  </p><p>“Yeah, sure, why not?” Seokmin says. He doesn’t add on that he doesn’t have any other plans  for today, because that’s a little sad, even for a movie star on vacation. “It’ll be fun. I haven’t been back to the studio in a while.”</p><p>“Really? Lee Seokmin, you’re the <em> best</em>,” Seungkwan practically yells into the receiver. “I owe you big time for this one, Hansol and I do.”</p><p>“No worries,” Seokmin laughs, fond. “How long has it been now, five years?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Seungkwan breathes into the receiver. “Can you believe that?”</p><p>Seokmin can. Seungkwan and Hansol were together before they were even together, two boys joined at the hip, constantly in each other’s spaces, incredibly familiar with the beating of each other’s hearts. A love with a foundation made of stone, rock-solid and steady. They’re one of those couples that you can’t help but be jealous of, not because of who they are, but because of who they are when they’re with each other — because you want something like that so badly for yourself.</p><p>“Your relationship is as old as a small child,” he says instead. “How does that make you feel?”</p><p>“Why would you say it like that,” Seungkwan whines. “Thanks for ruining the moment.”</p><p>“My pleasure,” Seokmin grins, eyes curving into crescent moons. “I’m getting better at it these days.”</p><p>“Remind me to keep you away from Jeonghan-hyung’s clutches,” Seungkwan tuts. “Do you know the address?” </p><p>“Yeah, it’s close to the convenience store right? Right across from the park?” </p><p>“That’s the one,” Seungkwan says brightly. “I’ll text him to tell you you’re coming. His first session is at 10 in the morning.”</p><p>Seokmin turns his head to look at his clock. The LED display reads <em> 9:35AM</em>, which means he’ll have to get up in the next three to five-ish minutes or he’ll risk being late. Seokmin groans, flinging a forearm over his eyes. He takes it back. He hates Seungkwan. </p><p>“Tell Hansollie that people in relationships are the <em> worst</em>. I hate him,” Seokmin says, dead serious. </p><p>“Love you too,” comes the reply, very amused, very much <em> not </em> Seungkwan. </p><p>Seokmin gasps. Another terrible, stinging betrayal. Seungkwan is particularly determined to sink his ranking on Seokmin’s best friend list today. “You didn’t tell me you were on speakerphone!” </p><p>“He wasn’t,” Hansol says, humming. “The both of you talk so loud. I could hear you from all the way over here.”</p><p>“Your boyfriend started it.” Seokmin tosses Seungkwan to the wolves. Every (former) best friend for himself.</p><p>“I did <em> not</em>. Lee Seokmin, you—”</p><p>There’s a shuffling on the other end, full of outraged huffs, and a smack or two, followed by wounded whispers and hushed apologies. Hansol cuts in with a disgruntled cough and a, “Thanks, bro. You really did us a solid here. It’s been a while since we’ve had a date night.”</p><p>The <em> because of Seungkwan’s job </em> is implied, but Hansol isn’t saying it to be mean. He says it like a statement, something he’s made his peace with it a long time ago. It’s the nature of the entertainment industry. You can get swept away if you forget where you are, lost to the motion of the ocean, eaten up by sharks. Nonetheless, Seokmin feels guilty. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, bro.” The English feels clunky in his mouth. Seokmin looks at the time. <em> 9:43AM </em>. He’d better get going. “Have fun for me, for the both of you. You deserve to spend time with Seungkwan, and god knows he deserves the vacation.”</p><p>“So do you,” Hansol reminds him. “Promise?”</p><p>Seokmin makes a humming sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing. </p><p>“Just promise me, Seokmin-ah,” Hansol says, serious in that thoughtful way of his. He only uses names when he means them, when he wants to command people’s attention to them. </p><p>“I promise,” Seokmin says softly. “Now go have fun.”</p><p>Seokmin can feel the force of Hansol’s gummy grin through the phone. He disconnects the call and sees the time: <em> 9:45AM. </em> He groans. Gets out of bed. </p><p>He’s going to be so late.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
—</p><p> </p><p>He squints up at the building. <em> Zero Dance</em>. Short and sweet. It’s a building that’s definitely seen better days, with shingles jutting out at odd angles and hastily done paint jobs trying to obstruct the fact that it’s actually been a long time since the owners have afforded any legitimate remodeling. Despite it all, it stands tall and firm, stubbornly weathering the passage of time.</p><p>Seokmin likes it already. He pulls on the door handle and makes his way inside to the front desk.</p><p>“Ah,” he asks the receptionist tentatively, “I’m here for the 10AM session?” He can already hear sneaker squeaks, the thrumming muted baseline of some unidentifiable pop song, the telltale stench of sweat rising from the practice room. </p><p>The receptionist takes a break from her important SM Superstar gaming session to look up at him, mouth going slack when she recognizes who he is. Her phone dangles limply in her hand, screen blaring red as she misses note after note. A nametag lies discarded on the desk. <em> Kim Jimin. </em></p><p>“Um,” she says very intelligently. </p><p>“Er, you dropped your gum,” Seokmin cuts in, wincing as he says it. He hopes this isn’t the only thing she’ll remember from their interaction, doesn’t need Seungkwan to laugh at him over another ‘awkward encounter with Dokyeom’ Pannchoa article.  “Do you need a tissue...?”</p><p>“No, no,” she giggles in embarrassment and gets up abruptly, hands scouring the desk for something to conceal the gum with. “You’re Dokyeom-ssi, aren’t you? My sister’s <em> obsessed </em> with you. Wow, you’re even more good-looking in real life, that’s stupidly unfair of you.”</p><p>“Oh, no, no, you can just call me Seokmin,” Seokmin’s eyes widen, waving his hands in front of her face as if to physically ward her off. </p><p>“I’m not wearing my contacts today, but you look exactly like the main actor of <em> Excalibur </em>… it’s the nose.”  She scrutinizes him further, brows furrowed, looking very confused. “Are you sure you’re not him?”</p><p>“Wait, no, I <em> am </em> him,” Seokmin laughs sheepishly at the misunderstanding, “but there’s no need to call me that. I’m just Seokmin.”</p><p>Some of the parents are beginning to recognize him now, too, and Seokmin panics. He’s always been terribly awkward at handling his fame — god, even saying it aloud makes him cringe — so he tries his best to make amends. He signs her phone case and offers to take a quick selca with her as well, which makes her squeal with delight. (Seokmin quickly gets the feeling that her sister isn’t the obsessed fan in the family.)</p><p>He hastily jerks a thumb over to the practice room before any other person can ask for a photo op.  “I’m gonna head in now,” Seokmin says lamely, and bows once before practically turning tail and running.</p><p>The practice room is filled with so many bodies, of all different shapes and sizes, animated chattering with an occasional shout filling the air. Seokmin slows down then, tries to catch his breath, sweeping his gaze across the room. His eyes are drawn to the center of the room immediately, to a figure clothed in all black, standing tall in the midst of the chaos.</p><p>Well he’ll be damned. Lee Chan. </p><p>Seokmin would be lying if his breath didn’t get knocked out of him. Just a little bit.</p><p>Back when they were younger, Chan had always been cute, the kind of person you could pick out of a lineup at first glance but quickly forget in favor of bigger, better things. But now? He’s grown into himself, harsh solid lines where there had been baby fat before, carrying himself with surety and a cautious air of severity. Now there’s no reason <em> not </em> to pay Chan any attention. He commands it.</p><p>Needless to say, Seokmin is fairly intrigued. </p><p>He works his way over to where Chan is, trying not to walk however Seungkwan insists he walks when he wants to impress someone. </p><p>(“I’m serious, you <em> swagger </em> a little bit—“ “I do <em> not </em> !” “You <em> so </em> do, don’t play with me. We’ve known each other since we were in diapers, you know.”)</p><p>“Hi,” he smiles a little awkwardly, one hand in the air. “I’m Seokmin? Seungkwan sent me?”</p><p>Chan gives him a quick once over, gaze flitting up and down. Unconsciously, Seokmin sheds his nervousness and stands up a little bit straighter, pushing his shoulders back. Seungkwan’s voice is nagging in his head again. Chan’s gaze remains unimpressed, sharp and steady.  </p><p>Seokmin experiences a slight frisson of fear.</p><p>Is his fly unzipped? He subtly tries to check, then realizes he’s wearing sweatpants. </p><p>“You’re late,” Chan says sharply. “I’m going to need you to watch the five year olds today. Can you do that?” </p><p>Seokmin starts. He’s not entirely too sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t expect this. “Yeah,” Seokmin says, to be polite. He had been late after all, and there were far more kids than he was expecting, so he understands Chan’s testiness. He chalks it up to a bad morning and puts on what he hopes is his most genial face. </p><p>“Yeah,” he repeats, wiping his palms on the front of his sweats surreptitiously, “I can handle them. What are they supposed to be doing?”</p><p>Chan looks him up and down again, arms crossed over his chest, sizing Seokmin up again. He’s smaller than Seokmin, by half a head, but there’s something about the way that Chan’s looking at him that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s two feet tall. </p><p>Seokmin frowns internally, annoyance starting to itch its way back up again. </p><p>What is his problem?</p><p>Chan points over to a group of kids in the corner. “They’re young, but they’re the most capable kids I’ve had in a long time. Just get them to do warm ups while I lead the junior session for a bit. Seungkwan says you’re a fast learner, then we can switch groups when they’re ready.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Seokmin says, but by then Chan is turning away from him, attention already on the juniors. Seokmin’s fingers twitch for a slight moment from where they are by his side. He breathes in through his nose, out through his chest, like Minghao’s taught him. </p><p>Professional. He can be professional about this, even when Chan’s being a little pretentious ass. Seokmin emphasizes the ‘little’ part in his head just to spite the other man, feeling the tiniest bit vindictive, no matter how juvenile it is.</p><p>If Chan hears the internalized jibe, he doesn’t give any indication of it, just keeps focused on his routine demonstration for the juniors. </p><p>Seokmin whirls around and claps his hands together, voice warm and booming. “Okay, who’s ready to do some warmups? Let’s make some noise!”</p><p>The resounding cheers that his little five year olds give him echo around the room, stunning even Chan into silence. Not that Seokmin cares. </p><p>(He totally does.)</p><p><br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The rest of the session goes smoothly, even at the handoff. Seokmin picks up the routine pretty quickly from the juniors, a sultry piece to Ariana Grande’s <em> positions </em>. Despite his misgivings about Chan, Seokmin can’t deny his genius — the piece is well-choreographed, mixing together sharp movements only to contrast them against softer, more open ones mere seconds later. It’s living, breathing art. </p><p>Seokmin spends the rest of the time catching mistakes and giving pointers to the kids using what he remembers from his days as a tap and dance major at SOPA. In turn, they ask him questions with wide open eyes, things like <em> What’s it like being famous?, </em> or, <em> Do you know this actor from that show? </em> , and <em> Is it true that you have someone that does your own laundry? Because my mom says that I can do that when I’m rich, and I’m wondering how rich I have to be to afford that.  </em></p><p>He remembers what he was like at that age, so he tries to indulge them all. The question and answer session is cut short when Chan looks over suspiciously from where he’s helping the little ones.</p><p>“There’s too much talking over there,” Chan calls out warningly, and the juniors spook, scrambling into action, giggling at being caught in the act of slacking off. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, I'm just giving them a pep talk,” Seokmin calls back, exaggerating a grand wink behind his hand. “Okay, seriously now, from the top. Before he kills me for distracting you guys.”</p><p>“He’s not usually this grumpy, <em> seonsaengnim</em>,” this one girl, Sejeong, pipes up shyly. “He lets us take a lot of breaks, especially because we’re not as good at dancing as the other kids who take his classes on the weekdays.”</p><p>It’s then that Seokmin learns that these sessions are free, and that they have been, ever since Chan took over the old dance studio. For two hours every Saturday, every week, rain or shine, hail or snow, <em> Zero Dance </em>is alive with the sound of music. Of dance.</p><p>Seokmin gazes at Chan from across the room. His shirt is soaked through with sweat, clinging to his frame, eyes patient and kind as he encourages his little ones. Seokmin wonders exactly what it is about himself that manages to bring out the worst in Chan. How is it that everyone else gets to see Chan in this way, kind and gentle and giving, when Seokmin gets greeted with nothing but cold sharp edges, never quite able to catch a glimpse of it himself.</p><p>It feels like he’s the odd one out, the stranger in the room, and he hates it. He hates how he hates it, hates how the incessant need to be liked by everyone rises up in his belly and despite it all, how he bends himself to feed it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seokmin tries again, when all the kids have gone home and they’re mopping up the floors, “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”</p><p>“I’m glad you feel the same way,” Chan says, and turns back to his task.</p><p>Seokmin’s not stupid, knows that it’s a clear signal to end the conversation. He huffs, feeling inexplicably jipped, his end of the olive branch mocking him from where it lies in his hands. Well, no one can say he didn’t try. He keeps his head down for the rest of the time they’re cleaning, focuses on the music playing in the background, and when they finish, he forces a neutral blank face as Chan locks up the studio.</p><p>“Thanks,” Chan offers. It feels like anything but.</p><p>“No problem,” Seokmin replies, equally as clipped. </p><p>They part ways, and that’s the end of that. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>seokminnie 🍕</b>
</p><p>not to be dramatic or anything </p><p>but u owe me big time mr. boo 🙄</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>kwannie 🍊</b>
</p><p>shut up</p><p>that’s literally what you get paid to do for a living</p><p>[replied to “you owe me big time mr. boo”] ????!!</p><p>explain</p><p>what happened</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>seokminnie 🍕</b>
</p><p>it was AWFUL😭😭😭</p><p>0/10 experience do not recommend </p><p>u couldn’t pay 5M won to get me back in there</p><p>wait no</p><p>the kids </p><p>they were soooo cute </p><p>can’t believe they called me ahjussi though🔪🔪</p><p> </p><p>Seokmin’s phone begins to blare in the middle of his typing. He picks up, playing with the volume dial out of habit.</p><p>“You <em> are </em> an ahjussi.” Seungkwan says, mild confusion coloring his tone.</p><p>“And you’re a hater.” Seokmin frowns. “You’re only a year younger than me, so don’t even start, Boo Seungkwan.”</p><p>Seungkwan makes a tiny noise of disagreement. “Wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, in a voice that implies that he most definitely was. “Anyways, what <em> happened</em>?”</p><p>“Nothing happened,” Seokmin replies. “I went to the dance studio, like you said. I helped out with the kids, as you said. I just don’t want to go back there, like, ever. Cute place, but please don’t make me go back.”</p><p>“You’re so annoying,” Seungkwan groans. “You were only there for two hours, tops.” A pause. Then, a little more dubious, “What did you do?”</p><p>“Why do you think <em> I’m </em>one who messed things up?”</p><p>“Well, for starters, it’s you—”</p><p>“Gee, thanks,” Seokmin cuts in dryly. “I feel so loved right now. I’ve come to you, in my time of need, and this is what you have to say to me?”</p><p>Seungkwan sniffs. “I’m only saying it because I know you, Seokmin, and I know Chan. There has to be a very reasonable explanation behind this.”</p><p>“You’re my best friend,” Seokmin whines. “Let me have this moment. You’re supposed to be on <em> my </em> side.”</p><p>“Well, Chan’s my best friend too,” Seungkwan says, all surly.</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” Seokmin plays with his left earlobe, twisting it this way and that. “He seems like a great guy, Seungkwan, don’t get me wrong. All the kids love him to pieces, and I haven’t heard a single bad thing about him from anyone that I talked to. But maybe we’re just not cut out to be friends.”</p><p>“It’s no fun if my two best friends don’t get along,” Seungkwan hums thoughtfully, the way he does when he’s plotting something. “I’ll talk to him for you, figure things out on his end. I’m sure it’s all just one big misunderstanding.”</p><p>“Don’t bother,” Seokmin says, waving Seungkwan off, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, a remnant of earlier in the day. He sees the back of Chan’s shoulders, turned away from him. Mocking. “It doesn’t matter, honestly. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again anyways.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Because the universe has it out for him, Seokmin ends up eating his words a week later. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>kwannie 🍊</b>
</p><p>just sent u 5K won</p><p>sorry it’s not 5M </p><p>but hyerim’s sick and i have to go take care of her since noona’s got work today</p><p>pleaseeeee and thank youuuuu i love you</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>seokminnie🍕</b>
</p><p>don’t lie to me 🤬🤬</p><p>just say you hate me</p><p>it would hurt less than this </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>kwannie 🍊</b>
</p><p>sorryyyyyy &lt;/3</p><p>second time’s a charm?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>seokminnie🍕</b>
</p><p>for who me or chan </p><p>it’s fine</p><p>the kids like me at least i think</p><p>hope she’s okay</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>kwannie 🍊</b>
</p><p>it'll be good for the both of u</p><p>i really thought u guys would get along</p><p> idk what happened the first time</p><p>give it another chance!!!!!!</p><p>grabbing a shit ton of vitamin c i hope the gremlin doesn’t get me sick too kids are gross little bastards why did noona decide she want three</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>seokminnie🍕</b>
</p><p>u take that back rn</p><p>i’m not calling u a liar</p><p>but like. i’m not calling u truther either…</p><p>doubtful 🤨🤨 but we’ll see</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Seokmin makes sure his alarm is set an hour earlier than he needs to wake up so that he won’t be late a second time, and spends a painstaking amount of time trying to find a respectable set of clothes to wear, hovering in front of the mirror, outfit change after outfit change. Partly because there’s a piece of him that still hungers for Chan’s approval, and in part because it has been a while since he’s done laundry.</p><p>He greets Jimin at the front desk again, before heading in. Some of the kids recognize him from the previous week, crowding around him with starry eyes. They only leave when Chan begins, directing them to their stations for the day. Seokmin holds his breath every time Chan looks over in his direction. It’s not nearly as bad as the first workshop, but Seokmin still feels the chill in the air. Somehow, they manage to stumble their way to the end of the two hours without anything more than brief nods and brusque words of acknowledgement.</p><p>“Ah,” Chan manages to catch Seokmin before he heads out, sheepish smile as he towels himself off. “Seungkwan nagged my ear off last night.” </p><p>“Good for you,” Seokmin sniffs. “Well deserved, I’m sure.”</p><p>They spend a couple minutes more brewing in silence, Seokmin packing up his things. Chan clears his throat. “Well, I guess I deserved that.”</p><p>Seokmin side-eyes him. “Oh yeah? Which part?”</p><p>Chan gives him a reproachful look, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his chin downwards. Seokmin only feels the teeniest, tiniest part guilty. He means it, though, when he apologizes, gesturing for Chan to continue on. </p><p>Chan blows out a puff of air. “Last Saturday, I guess.”</p><p>“I <em> guess?” </em>Seokmin echoes, incredulous. </p><p>“Shut up,” Chan says. It seems to slip out of his mouth faster than he can realize it, and instead of feeling vaguely offended by it, like he should be, Seokmin is only mildly amused.</p><p>“Well, this is turning out to be very promising.”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Chan hangs his head in defeat, his entire body deflating. “Let me try this again.”</p><p>Seokmin crosses his arms. “I’m listening.”</p><p>There’s a slight pause between them, the silence deafening as Chan tries to collect his thoughts. He finally shakes his head, letting out a huff of frustration. “I’m no good at words. Let me make it up to you instead. How’s dinner sound?” </p><p>Chan extends a hand.</p><p>Seokmin mulls it over for a brief second before he ends up taking it. What else has he got to lose?</p><p>Besides, if it doesn’t work out, at least he managed to finagle a free meal out of it.</p><p>“Add on dessert, and I’ll consider calling it even.”</p><p>Chan’s answering grin is far brighter than he’d expected it to be. “Deal.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Chan takes him to a tiny hole in the wall, a mom and pop kitchen obscured by the bright lights of chain retailers. Seokmin has to duck down further than Chan to get in, but he woefully miscalculates and ends up accidentally hitting his head on one of the chandeliers. </p><p>“That’s what you get for being tall,” Chan tells him cheerfully, guiding Seokmin to their booth.</p><p>“This is a hate crime,” Seokmin winces, rubbing the back of his head. “I know I have a hard head and all, but I shouldn’t have to prove it.”</p><p>They prop up their menus to order, but not before Seokmin spots an elderly couple shamelessly staring at him from two tables over, not even attempting to hide their blatant scrutiny. Damn. He screws his eyes shut and props the menu up higher, sinking deep into his seat.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Chan asks, peering over the top of his menu to look at Seokmin worriedly. “If you’re not in the mood for Korean, we can always go somewhere else, just tell me. I thought it’d be a nice change of pace, since Seungkwan told me you just came back from travelling overseas.”</p><p>“No, no,” Seokmin waves him off distractedly. “It’s perfect, really.”</p><p>He can see the couple chatting amongst themselves excitedly, scraping their chairs back as they get up to leave. He counts the steps that they take — it’s not that big a place, really, how many can they get in before they end up at their table — and prays desperately to whoever’s listening that the couple is just leaving, that they’ll walk past.</p><p>They don’t. </p><p>“Sorry to bother you,” the <em> ahjussi </em> says nervously, pointing over to where his wife is waiting. She lets out a tiny wave, small smile gracing her features, and Seokmin’s annoyance all but melts at the sight. “My wife’s a huge fan, and we were wondering if it was okay to ask you for a selca?”</p><p>“Ah,” Seokmin lets out an embarrassed chuckle, “I’m eating with a friend right now. Would an autograph be alright instead?” </p><p>It’s cute how he turns to his wife for approval. She nods emphatically, shooting them both a thumbs up, and Seokmin grins back at her while her husband fumbles for a pen, grabbing at the nearest napkin for Seokmin to sign. He does so with a flourish, sending them back to their meal with a kind wave and profuse thank yous for watching his shows. </p><p>“I don’t get it,” Chan frowns cutely, tilting his head to the side as he watches them go, giddy with their prize. “Are you famous or something?”</p><p>Seokmin stares at Chan, gauging his expression. There’s annoyance in his gaze, but the sort that comes with being interrupted during dinner, or the kind that comes when not let in on a joke that everybody else seems to get.</p><p>Oh, Seokmin thinks faintly. He’s serious. </p><p>“I thought you knew,” he starts, slowly. </p><p>“Oh, you’re being serious,” Chan blinks. “Like, you didn’t pay them to do that, or anything?”</p><p>Seokmin gawks. He doesn’t want to say anything that makes him sound like a douche, but how <em> hasn’t </em> Chan heard of him? Seokmin has done everything under the roof of entertainment in the past five years, with several projects skyrocketing him into success after success. Chan must’ve been living in a dungeon for him not to know. Or, Seokmin realizes, he just might not have cable. Which is probably the more realistic option.</p><p>“But, Seungkwan’s your best friend, and my manager?”</p><p>“What Seungkwan does on his own time is his own business. It’s not my place to pry.” Chan shrugs, picking his menu back up for perusal. “But good for you! You must be famous enough, Seokmin-<em>ssi</em>, for even people here to recognize you off the street.”</p><p>Seokmin laughs, half full of incredulity and half dizzy with freedom. Chan has absolutely no idea who he is. And there’s something so incredibly intoxicating about that, something so freeing about not having to put on a performance in front of people that already have this idea of who he is supposed to be, about not being trapped and caged and having it be decided for him, long ago, what kind of person he would have to be. </p><p>Seokmin feels the weight of a thousand tons lift off his shoulders, relieving a pressure that he hadn’t known was there before. </p><p>“Yeah,” he smiles. “Or something like that.”</p><p>He takes one long look at Chan from across the table, who meets his gaze evenly. </p><p>They get to start anew. </p><p>(The thought of it makes Seokmin giddy with anticipation.)</p><p>He flicks open his menu and sees that the possibilities are endless. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>After a very successful dinner, they elect to take the long way home to Chan’s apartment, trading stories along the way.</p><p>Seokmin learns that the rumors had been true: like Seokmin, Chan had a future amongst the stars, and was meant for things bigger and better than this place. His path was supposed to take him far, far away from here, until injury struck him down, yanked him down from the sky, grounding him here forever. An anchor that still tugs on him, from time to time.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seokmin whispers, for the ghost of a boy that could’ve been. A specter lost in time. </p><p>“I’ve made my peace with it,” Chan smiles crookedly, and Seokmin’s heart aches despite it all, because he shouldn’t have had to. “Besides, I do what I love for a living, and there’s not that many people out there that get to say that.”</p><p>Chan learns about Seokmin, about how he is lucky enough to say the same thing. Luck has ruled his whole life, Seokmin feels, the sort of luck that gets bolstered by chance. He’s been lucky to get this far, to get the opportunities that he has, the roles he’s been able to play. Everything that comes around goes around, though, and what he’s left with is this undeniable truth: how terrified he is of his luck running out. Of disappointing the people he loves when it does. </p><p>To prove his point, he tells Chan how he’s doing it right now, running back home when things get too difficult. Hiding out in the open, taking refuge in the familiar. </p><p>“You’re not a coward,” Chan promises, in a tone of voice that makes Seokmin believe him. He’s only three years younger, but there’s something about the ease of their conversation that makes Seokmin feel as if they’re equals, of the same age. As if they’ve known each other all their lives. </p><p>“You’re just waiting out a storm.” Chan puts it so simply, grinning up at him. Packs it neatly in a box, easier for him to see. Leaves it by the door, for Seokmin to take out and look at it later, if he wanted to. There’s no pressure at all, no burden. It just is. And that’s that. </p><p>Seokmin doesn’t know how to reply, throat thick with gratitude for being seen, for being understood without having to explain much of it himself, so he swallows it instead.</p><p>“I don’t know what it is about you,” Chan confesses, hand on the back of his neck. They’re turned away from one another, looking up at the sky instead, sitting on the curb. It gives them the strength to admit things they normally wouldn’t out loud. Or do things like, apologize properly. “I’m usually not like that around other people.”</p><p>“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Seokmin offers. He pulls his knees close to his chest, and wraps his arms around them. “Sometimes it’s hard being only one thing to everyone around you.”</p><p>Chan lets out a small laugh, but it comes out stilted, on the wrong end of the pipe, gutted too cleanly. “This sounds like an area of expertise for you.” </p><p>Seokmin elects not to comment on that. Instead, he pushes his face further into his knees. “All I’m saying is, you just need one person to see you in a different light.” <em> Maybe I am that person to you,</em> is what he doesn’t say. <em> Maybe we can be that person to each other.  </em></p><p>Chan hums. “Maybe,” he says, very very softly. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>chan 🦦</b>
</p><p>I had a lot of fun tonight ^^</p><p>
  <b>seokmin</b>
</p><p>me too 😊😊</p><p>
  <b>chan 🦦</b>
</p><p>Yay!!! ^^</p><p>Oh god. </p><p>Do you know what this means…</p><p><b>seokmin</b> </p><p>???</p><p>
  <b>chan🦦</b>
</p><p>… Seungkwan was RIGHT</p><p>
  <b>seokmin</b>
</p><p>....</p><p>we can never tell him. </p><p>like ever.</p><p>
  <b>chan🦦</b>
</p><p>I won’t tell if you won’t </p><p>
  <b>seokmin</b>
</p><p>agreed. 🤐🤐</p><p>psst… are we friends now?</p><p>
  <b>chan 🦦</b>
</p><p>LOL yes ^^</p><p>
  <b>seokmin</b>
</p><p>ok cool cool!!! just checking!!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>chan🦦</b>
</p><p>Goodnight, Seokmin &gt;__&lt;</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Seokmin’s phone is ringing again. He has half a mind to fling it against the wall, but then that would mean potentially losing all the potential blackmail pictures he has on there, so he picks up instead. </p><p>“Stop calling me at indecent hours,” Seokmin groans into the phone. “Go bother your boyfriend instead, please, that’s what he’s there for.”</p><p>“It’s one in the afternoon,” Seungkwan says patiently. </p><p>“I said what I said. If it’s one o’clock, Hansol should be up.” Seokmin stretches, groaning in satisfaction when his back cracks in all the right places. “I should know, I was his roommate first. Before, you know, he evicted me so you could move in. I still can’t believe that. He threw me out onto the streets with nothing more than the clothes on my back. That’s foul. What happened to bros before hoes?”</p><p>Seungkwan’s eye roll is so potent that Seokmin can actually hear it through the phone. “Your acting career by then made you enough money to buy our apartment ten times over. You were <em> fine. </em>”</p><p>“Fine is relative. I was <em> bro-</em>less for weeks.” Seokmin places the back of his hand to his forehead delicately. “It was horrible.”</p><p>“Hansol didn’t die, he just moved in with me.”</p><p>“Let me rephrase that,” He punctuates each word with a sweep of his hands, even though Seungkwan isn’t there to witness it in its true glory. Theatrics, he supposes. It really doesn’t leave you. “He was dead to me.”</p><p>Seungkwan laughs, Seokmin along with him. </p><p>“Anyways, thought the whole point of this vacation was for you to get a break from me.” Seokmin cradles the phone close, wedging it between his shoulder and the crook of his chin.</p><p>“That was the plan initially,” Seungkwan admits, “but then I got this piece of juicy gossip and I couldn’t help myself. I <em> knew </em> it! I knew you and Chan would get along, but, not like <em> this.</em>”</p><p>“Huh?” Seokmin asks, genuinely confused. </p><p>“Nothing,” Seungkwan hums innocently. “I’d just like to say that I’m the best wingman ever, and if I’m not best man at your wedding, then I have every right to commit murder, okay? Have fun this Saturday, love you both, be safe, bye!”</p><p>“Is that all you wanted to call me for?” Seokmin asks, aghast. “It’s not even like that, what, where’d you hear that from, Seungkwan—”</p><p>“This town is smaller than you think,” Seungkwan says in an over-ominous tone, and promptly hangs up. </p><p>There’s nothing but the dial tone waiting for him on the other side. Seokmin looks at his phone, lit up with Seungkwan’s contact photo — he remembers that day, crystal clear, how angry they’d both been at each other, over something so trivial and minor. But Jeonghan had forced their heads together and brought out the phone and told them to look happy, so they’d forced their smiles, hissing insults at each other through clenched teeth. </p><p>The Seungkwan back then and the Seungkwan he knows now are still the same: they love to meddle. It’s simultaneously the most annoying and endearing thing known to man, to be fussed over the way that Seungkwan chooses to fuss over his people. It’s probably the most obnoxious display of affection known to man, and yet, Seokmin loves it. </p><p>Seokmin shakes his head, chuckling, thumbing at the screen. It’s still his favorite picture of them together, even after all these years. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
—</p><p> </p><p>“Wow,” Chan says as Seokmin enters the studio the following Saturday, of his own volition this time. Chan’s wearing a black beanie today, drawn tight and low over his forehead so that his tiny ears stick out, coupled with a sleeveless sweater vest. It’s simultaneously very old and young at the same, and Seokmin is very terribly endeared. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you were famous.”</p><p>Seokmin grumbles as he unwinds his scarf. “Do you think I go around telling people that for fun?”</p><p>Chan waits for a beat.</p><p>“Actually, no, don’t answer that—“</p><p>“Good,” Chan laughs. “Because that sounds <em> exactly </em> like something that you’d do.”</p><p>“Not anymore, anyways,” Seokmin pinks, embarrassed at being read too easily. “Only when I was just starting, so the local <em> ahjumma </em> s could find me on TV. They didn’t believe me at first, but the moment I nabbed <em> The Autumn Prince,</em> they realized I was the real deal.”</p><p>Chan nods knowingly. “Ah, yes, the <em> ahjummas </em> and their SBS specials. They can’t get enough of those <em> makjangs.</em>”</p><p>Seokmin rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t remind me, I spent months scrubbing those scenes from my memory. But it launched my career, so,” he shrugs, palms up to the sky, the universal gesture for, <em> who would’ve thunk? </em>“I guess it was worth it.”</p><p>“I guess?” Chan huffs. “Sorry, I guess we can’t all be Korea’s precious sun.”</p><p>Seokmin’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, so you’ve done your research?”</p><p>“I might’ve looked you up on Naver,” Chan shrugs. “Maybe. Just out of curiosity.”</p><p>Seokmin studies him a moment longer, grin threatening to fly off his face. </p><p>“What?” Chan crosses his arms, stubborn and defensive. “I had to make sure you were legit! I didn’t know who you were. Plus,” he complains, waving his hand around, “famous takes on a different meaning around here. They called me famous when the back of my head showed up on the news.”</p><p>“Hey,” Seokmin says, pointing a finger non-threateningly in Chan’s direction. “You’ve got a great head. I’m sure it was nice for everyone watching.” Chan shakes his head, amused, mouth twisting into a smile as he grabs the cleaning supplies. </p><p>“Plus, any screen time is valuable screen time! Right? Right?” Seokmin says, catching the towel Chan tosses at him. They spend a little while tidying up the place, all of about ten seconds really, before Seokmin drops his towel and asks the question his mind won’t stop bugging him about.</p><p>“Well, then, I guess I have to ask.” Seokmin puts his hands on his hips, waggling his eyebrows for good measure when Chan looks at him with apprehension. “How do I compare?”</p><p>Chan props himself up on his broom, leaning on it, and pretends to spend a long moment scrutinizing him, using his fingers and lens to view him through a makeshift camera lens. “You’re alright, I guess,” he says, straightening up and getting back to sweeping. “I’ve seen better.”</p><p>“Has anyone ever told you how rude you are?” Seokmin asks, half serious and the other half incredulous. He’s caught between begrudging admiration at Chan’s honesty and the urge to smack him upside the head. Someone should teach him a lesson or two.</p><p>“People might have mentioned it once or twice,” Chan admits, shrugging his shoulders. </p><p>“And you didn’t think to listen?”</p><p>“It has crossed my mind,” Chan feigns thoughtfulness, one finger on his chin and face tilted upwards, brows knitted together. “But where’s the fun in that?”</p><p>Seokmin shakes his head fondly. Brat.  </p><p>“Oh, there was this one clip that stuck out to me, though,” Chan mentions nonchalantly. “Thought it was cool.”</p><p>“Oh?” Seokmin tries his best to keep his face neutral, but something in him alights at the notion of being complimented.</p><p>“<em>Why do you look at me like that? How else should I look at you? </em>” Chan drops the broom and screws his face up impossibly tight, hands coming up to grasp at imaginary fingers, mimicking a scene written for the cable screen.</p><p>Seokmin knows exactly where it’s from, because he filmed it. 17 different times, from 17 different angles. It was painful to shoot, painful to get all the parts right, and even more painful to watch replayed over and over again all over the internet. Mingyu and Minghao didn’t let up for 3 months after that, relentless in their attempts to embarrass him to death. His jaw drops. </p><p>“Are you making fun of me?”</p><p>Chan laughs again. It’s a short sound, wild and free. “No,” he says, schooling his facial features, “don’t you know, Dokyeom-<em>ssi </em>? Life imitates art. You should be honored.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Seokmin snorts, nudging Chan lightly with a shoulder. "You're so full of shit."</p><p>“Tell me,” Chan turns to face Seokmin with open curiosity. “Has that actually worked in real life?” He looks entirely serious, except for the flickering corners of his mouth, which turn upwards in lieu of a smile. Another laugh escapes from Chan’s mouth, grin overtaking the rest of his face, all proprietary discarded.</p><p>Seokmin can’t help but mirror the sound, but not before he says, “I’m going to kill you,” and effectively shoves him over. </p><p>Of course, because Chan can’t stand being outdone, he shoves Seokmin back. From then on out it’s all out war. </p><p>Their mingled laughter echoes against the walls, filling up the studio space with warmth, preparation for the morning session forgotten already. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Before Seokmin knows it, this becomes their routine. Saturday mornings are for the dance studio, and in the evenings they go out. Then it starts to bleed over into the weekdays — a Monday movie night, a Wednesday out on the town. Thursdays become coffee dates, and Friday review of choreography in the studio. They all end in the same way: with a warm meal and even warmer feelings blossoming between the two. </p><p>(Seokmin won’t put a label on it yet. But he’s hopeful.)</p><p>Suddenly he finds himself spending nearly almost every day with Chan. Less than a month and he’s already monopolized his entire time without him even realizing it. What a sneak.</p><p>He tells him as much when Chan shows up at his house the next Tuesday. </p><p>“I can leave right now,” Chan jerks a thumb over his shoulder, making the gesture to turn right back on his heels and go back from where he came. Seokmin yelps, one hand coming out to grab the tail end of his oversized hoodie. </p><p>“No, don’t go,” Seokmin whines. “I spent a really long time planning this.”</p><p>Chan shakes his head in amusement, his hand coming to cover Seokmin’s own from where it’s toying with the hem of the overlarge sweater. “And you’re supposed to be the older one out of us.”</p><p>“Yep, that’s me! And that’s <em> hyung </em> to you,” Seokmin grins, pulling him inside. “We’re going to make pizza today,” he beams, sweeping a hand over the table, where various ingredients are already out and put in bowls all over the table. It looks as professional as a home kitchen can be. Seokmin made sure of that.</p><p>The only problem is that he doesn’t exactly know how to make pizza. The extent of his knowledge is supplemented by a late-night deep dive into pizza-making Youtube and hasty reading of several recipes until two AM in the morning, bolstered by the growling of his stomach and his love for pizza. It looked easy enough, so Seokmin has bookmarked everything and prepared absolutely nothing. </p><p>But Chan doesn’t need to know that. </p><p>“Do you even know how to make pizza?” Chan asks, like he lives in Seokmin’s head, has him all figured out or something. What the fuck? How is he real? </p><p>“Nope,” Seokmin says brightly, wiggling his fingers. “But what I lack in expertise I can make up for in enthusiasm.”</p><p>Chan lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “There’s a sexual innuendo in there somewhere, I think. But let’s hope that applies to pizza-making, too.”</p><p>He examines all the stuff laid out on the table, as Seokmin pulls on his cooking attire. The <em> ahjummas </em> at the supermarket were very excited to help him pick out the right materials, putting random things into his cart with a solemn nod and reassurance that yes, he would definitely need all of this if he was going to impress his dinner date.</p><p>“Don’t say anything,” Seokmin shakes a finger at Chan threateningly, or as threateningly as he can be in bright pink gloves and a frilly apron. </p><p>“I’m not,” Chan snickers, purposefully turning on his ringer to let Seokmin know that he’s captured this moment in all its eternity. Seokmin huffs, refusing to give him a response, and turns to his iPad, which has the instructions loaded up. He can’t help but shoot Chan a particular finger when the other lets out another snigger and he hears the snapshot again.</p><p>“Let’s get this thing started now, shall we?” Seokmin grins. “I have a good feeling about this.”</p><p>He’s a fool. Those are some famous last words.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“It’s going terribly, but I’m having fun.” Seokmin pants, furiously kneading the dough. Baking was supposed to relieve all his stress, not add onto it. He’s going to sue someone — he doesn’t know exactly who yet, but he will. </p><p>Chan takes one look at Seokmin, covered head to toe in flour, and snorts. “Okay, if you say so.” </p><p>“It’s fine,” Seokmin says, muscles flexing as he kneads. He feels a trickle of sweat make its way down from his forehead. He can only hope he doesn’t look as gross as he feels. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“We can always order pizza?” Chan offers kindly. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”</p><p>“No,” Seokmin returns to his dough, sticking his tongue out determinedly. “I believe in us. We can do it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Chan says, and returns to scrolling idly through his phone. “Fighting!”</p><p>“You’re not even helping me!” Seokmin splutters indignantly. </p><p>“‘Helping’ is open to interpretation,” Chan giggles. </p><p>“Brat,” Seokmin huffs. </p><p>“That’s me,” Chan grins cheekily, but he dutifully pushes the chair back and gets up, donning the matching pair of gloves and apron that Seokmin had bought earlier. He pushes the sleeves of his hoodie back, and puts on a determined face, hands on his hips. “What’s the move, chef?”</p><p>Seokmin looks down on him, fond, lets himself admire the flutter of Chan’s eyelashes against his cheek for a little while longer, where a matching patch of flour has made its home, before he moves his gaze to read from the iPad. “Okay, so I think we’re supposed to add water if it’s too stiff.”</p><p>Chan slaps the dough, nearly startling Seokmin into dropping the device. </p><p>“What?” he asks. “I saw this in a movie, once.”</p><p>Seokmin barely manages to stifle his laughter. As if everything in the movies is true. He would know, he makes them. “And?”</p><p>“It’s pretty stiff.” Chan says. “I think.” </p><p>They work like that, trading spots and places where they’re unsure, and Seokmin feels incredibly happy to just be in close proximity with Chan, even though the bake isn’t going the way he planned at all. For the first time in a long while, Seokmin isn’t alone in this apartment. He wants to capture the moment in a bottle and keep it, tucked gently away for safekeeping so it lasts.</p><p>“I hope this turns out well,” Seokmin clasps his hands together, watching as Chan carefully puts their creation into the oven. They take a step back together, letting out twin sighs of satisfaction.</p><p>“For our sake,” Chan says, placing one tiny hand on Seokmin’s shoulder, “I hope so, too.”</p><p>The timer goes off thirty minutes later. Seokmin squeals excitedly, feet pattering on the floor as he runs to the oven to check up on their pride and joy.</p><p>The pizza looks awful.</p><p>“How’s it going there, chef?” Chan asks, peering out from behind him, hands coming to rest idly on Seokmin’s hips, setting off a deluge of butterflies in Seokmin’s chest.</p><p>Nobly trying to ignore this, Seokmin arms himself with a pink oven mitt and a wooden spatula, and focuses on trying to open the oven. He pokes at the pizza cautiously, as if fending off a fearsome beast.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Seokmin says slowly. He watches a bit of the dough drop off the plate, still gooey. It is definitely not cooked. “But I don’t think I want to try it.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Chan smiles, shaking his head slightly. </p><p>“Should we just…?” Seokmin asks, even as his shoulders slump and he moves to throw the entire thing into the trash. He mourns it terribly, says a little prayer as he dumps his concoction into the bin. It falls with a final, dull <em> thump! </em> and is punctuated by the sound of both their stomachs growling.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chan pats his back reassuringly, already on the phone. </p><p>They end up ordering the pizza. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>As with all things in life, there comes an expiration date. A time when the fun must end. When the show must go on, and things must return to their regular programming.</p><p>Seokmin knows this, realistically, knows exactly what calendar day that it falls on, feels the noose starting to tighten around his neck the closer and closer it gets. The pressure comes back, tenfold, his bones staggering under the unfamiliar weight of it all. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Chan asks instinctively from where he’s laying, head pillowed on Seokmin’s thigh. Something in Seokmin’s chest clenches. Chan is so incredibly good. Seokmin doesn’t deserve him at all. </p><p>“Nothing,” He puts on a kind smile and reaches out to card his hands through Chan’s hair, tries his best to forget what’s to come, counting down the days until he’ll no longer be able to do this anymore. “Don’t worry about it.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Seokmin lies awake in the dark one night, staring up at the ceiling, feeling haunted. </p><p>He knows he shouldn’t be. He is Lee Dokyeom. He’s kind and he’s funny and he’s talented and everyone has nothing but good things to say about it. He’s everything that he should want to be. </p><p>And yet, Seokmin isn’t. He doesn’t feel like he fits the bill. He’s just not That Guy. Dokyeom is someone so incredibly far out of reach that Seokmin keeps stumbling trying to keep up, barely keeping his head above water. He’s waiting for the day that someone looks a little closer and realizes that he’s a phony. </p><p>Seokmin knows it, too. These days it seems like all he knows how to do is hold his breath. </p><p>Acting is part of the job, he knows that, but — sometimes he puts on so many masks that he can’t remember who he is underneath it all. Sometimes he’s stuck staring at himself in the mirror, wondering where the hell it is that he’s really gone. </p><p>But with Chan, it’s so easy. Seokmin can finally let go of what sits so heavy on his chest, even if it’s just for a little bit. It’s those brief moments, anyways, that Seokmin has learned to savor the taste of, those times that make him feel unmoored and wild and free. When he’s surrounded and loved and made to forget his thoughts. He keeps these memories close, tucked under his collar, close to his chest. For precious safekeeping. </p><p>It’s terrifying how quickly Chan has become important to Seokmin. Someone who he holds very dear to his heart. </p><p>He takes a deep, watery breath, and finally unlocks his phone to do something long overdue. </p><p>“I’m sorry for calling you so late,” Seokmin whispers into the receiver. </p><p>“Don’t be sorry,” Seungkwan whispers back. “I was already up anyways. Hold on, let me go someplace where I won’t wake Hansol.” There’s a slight rustling on his end, a sleepy murmur and a gentle, “Go back to sleep, Hansol-ah, it’s just Seokmin.”</p><p>Seokmin lays in bed, phone to his ear, listening to all the sounds that Seungkwan makes with his eyes closed. It’s oddly comforting. </p><p>“Okay,” Seungkwan speaks, letting Seokmin know he’s in the clear. “I’m in the kitchen.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seokmin says again, because it’s the only thing he can at the moment. </p><p>“Seokmin,” Seungkwan says, firm. Resolute. “Don’t worry about it, seriously. You’re not a bother.”</p><p>Seokmin wants to cry. Seungkwan somehow always knows what to say when he needs it most. </p><p>“Thank you,” he manages to utter. Seungkwan makes a noncommittal sound, softly singing a melody in between the spaces of their silence. He’ll do this sometimes, when Seokmin has so many thoughts running around in his head but doesn’t know how to form the proper words to catch them all. Seungkwan hums to let Seokmin know he’s there, because he knows Seokmin hates the quiet more than anything else. </p><p>“So,” Seokmin begins, feeling inexplicably peeled already. He hasn’t even got to the emotional part of anything yet. “I think I like Chan.”</p><p>There’s a soft gasp on the other end, and Seokmin screws his eyes shut. In for a penny, in for a pound. </p><p>“He makes me laugh, and he’s funny — god, he’s so funny — and he’s patient with me when I don’t get jokes, like he’ll sit down and explain them to me, every single part. Even you won’t do that for me,” Seokmin laughs, but it distorts on its way out, watery. He thinks he hears Seungkwan laughing with him on the other end too. </p><p>“He gives those kids free sessions every Saturday, Seungkwan, and do you know why? It’s because he doesn’t want money to be a reason why they can’t do something they love to do.” Seokmin is absolutely miserable. “He’s so good.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know.” Seungkwan’s voice is soft and fond. “Channie’s the best of us all.”</p><p>“What do you think? Do you think he could like me too?” Seokmin asks, so incredibly small. Fragile. Hope is a thing with wings, he thinks.</p><p>His previous co-star, Jeon Wonwoo, had told him that once, when he was mooning over their makeup artist, a fellow by the name of Kwon Soonyoung. Now Seokmin thinks he gets it. </p><p>“I think,” Seungkwan says slowly, “that you’re both my best friends in the whole entire world. I’ve never seen you as happy as you are when Chan’s around. And for what it’s worth, Chan talks about you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, too.”</p><p>“Oh,” Seokmin breathes out softly. So it’s like that. </p><p>“Yeah,” Seungkwan replies gently. “It’s like that. So what are you going to do about it?”</p><p><br/>
—</p><p> </p><p>But of course, because Seokmin is, at heart, a coward, he does absolutely nothing at all. </p><p>It starts small at first. Botched plans and last minute cancelled calls, Seokmin panicking and coming up with some flimsy excuses that center around the preparation for his return to his career. Every single time Chan is so understanding that Seokmin wilts internally, the guilt chewing him up alive. </p><p>Chan should hate him, just a little bit, by now. Seokmin knows he deserves it; he has flaked so many times that Chan cannot take it any other way.  </p><p>He is so scared to mess everything up that he doesn’t even try. </p><p>Seokmin makes plans to leave town so quietly, hoping that he’ll be able to go without a sound, because he figures an aching heart suffering in silence is the loudest pain of all. </p><p>And he just doesn’t want to make it worse. </p><p> </p><p>—<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The doorbell rings just as he’s finished packing up his last suitcase. Seokmin opens the door without thinking, because it should only be Seungkwan anyways, coming over to verify the last details of his schedule. </p><p>“Hi,” Chan frowns up at him. He’s standing outside at Seokmin’s doorstep heaving, with clothes hastily thrown on, as if he’d dropped everything to run there. Only that can’t be true, because things like that only happen in the movies, and this is real life. “I heard that you were leaving.”</p><p>“Oh,” Seokmin’s eyes slide to the floor, hand listless on the doorframe. “Yeah.” He swallows, nervously. “I am.”</p><p>“Without saying goodbye?”</p><p>Seokmin runs a hand through his hair. “Of course not.” A blatant lie. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Chan asks. “I thought things were going great.”</p><p>“They were— are,” Seokmin stutters. </p><p>Chan doesn’t miss the stumble. He narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks again, insistent at first, then softening at the tail end of his plea. “And don’t lie to me, Seokmin. Please. I want to fix it, whatever’s wrong.”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong,” Seokmin protests, but he still can’t meet Chan’s eyes. He feels so ashamed. “It’s not something that you can fix, anyways.”</p><p>Chan frowns. “Try me.”</p><p>Seokmin finally looks at Chan. Really looks at all of him, bathed in the soft glow of the light above his apartment doorstep, the way it feathers out behind him and gently kisses the crown of his head. He looks ethereal. Unreal. Somewhere in between those two.</p><p>Despite the distance he’d been trying to put in between them, Seokmin’s heart still tries to jump out of his chest, reaching out for something that doesn’t belong to him. He can feel his eyes start to well up with tears. The words are sitting in his mouth, confused, waiting for some kind of direction, waiting for him to yank them out.</p><p>Once he starts, it’s kind of hard to stop. “It’s me,” Seokmin confesses. He sees Chan’s face turn quizzical, and he braces himself, steamrolling on before he can be interrupted. “I’m the problem, don’t you see? You had such a nice life before me, you’ll have a nice life after me, and I’m just someone who’s passing through. I shouldn’t have bothered you at all.”</p><p>“I couldn’t help myself, though.” He bites his lip. Thinks about all the ways that Chan reminds him of the sun, how greedy and grateful he is for every piece he has managed to steal. “But I think I should just go, before I can ruin whatever this is, before I make this any worse than it already can get.”</p><p>Seokmin feels desperate to make Chan understand. He’s ripping at his own seams, tearing threads loose, pointing at chinks in his own armor, all attempts to get Chan to open his eyes. </p><p>“You’re not a bother,” Chan protests instead, eyes wide. “Where did you — what?”</p><p>“You don’t know that!” Seokmin says, a little hysterical. </p><p>“C’mere,” Chan groans and yanks Seokmin forward, arms coming around to circle his waist. “Stop being silly.” He reaches up to pat the back of Seokmin’s head. “There’s no need to think so far ahead when I’m right here in front of you. You’re going to hurt your pretty little head,making it work so hard like that.”</p><p>Seokmin hides a watery laugh in Chan’s shoulders, bending down to reciprocate the hug, squeezing tight to make sure he’s not dreaming. Chan wiggles out of Seokmin’s arms after a while and takes a moment to look up at him.</p><p>Seokmin can’t believe the sight that greets him there. A familiar face. The shyest of grins. Fondness, so much of it, that he feels like he could be drowning standing up. There’s a lot of love that can be held in a gaze. Seokmin didn’t know that before.</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Chan laughs, hands coming up to play with Seokmin’s bangs, fluffing them up and pushing them gently out of his eyes. “But I like you so much. I hope you know that.”</p><p>Seokmin can’t deal with the implications of that, so he pulls Chan back into the embrace, shoving his face into the other’s shoulder. “I like you too,” he says, a little bit muffled.  </p><p>“Good. Otherwise, that’d have been awkward,” Chan somehow manages to sound nervous and confident at the same time. Brat.</p><p>“Thank you,” Seokmin whispers into the fabric, so faint that he’s not sure Chan catches it.</p><p>He does though — of course he does. Chan hums against him, solid, a reminder. </p><p>“Don’t mention it.”  </p><p>They stand for a while like that, curled against each other’s hearts. It’s been ages since Seokmin has felt this warm, inside and out. It’s a nice feeling. </p><p>He could get used to it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Seokmin wakes up shivering to a boy in his bed. This one is swaddled in all of his blankets. No wonder Seokmin’s cold. Damned blanket hog. </p><p>“Hi,” he says. “Enjoying yourself there?”</p><p>Chan shakes his head slightly, bemused, clutching the blankets around himself tighter. His bedhead is atrocious, a heap of dark hair staticky and pointing in several different directions. Seokmin is willing to bet his own looks a hundred times worse. </p><p>“We’re really doing this?” Seokmin asks, but Chan doesn’t say anything more, just pats the space next to him, under the covers. A clear invitation for Seokmin to join him, and he does, diving beneath and gathering blankets around their heads. </p><p>“Hey,” Chan says, whispering, knocking their foreheads together.</p><p>“Why are we whispering?” Seokmin whispers back.</p><p>“Because I’m a little scared that all of this was a dream. That I’ll wake up if I’m not careful.” Chan confesses, ducking his head cutely so Seokmin doesn’t see him blush. They’re still whispering. Something about the quiet of the moment makes Seokmin want to yell out loud. Declare his feelings to the sky. <em> I like this boy! </em> It would be all so very easy.</p><p>“I’m very flattered,” Seokmin grins. “How does the real me compare to the one in your dreams?”</p><p>“You’re so much better,” Chan admits, then buries his head into the sheets with a loud groan. “<em> Why </em> did I say that. That was like a line straight out of one of your terrible and cheesy dramas. I feel sick. I’m going to throw up.”</p><p>“Well, if you’re going to throw up, I’d suggest you do it in the bathroom. Vomit’s kind of hard to get out of these sheets.”</p><p>Chan lifts his head up to shoot him a glare, then remembers where he is and promptly returns to his lamentation. “I’m going to pass away now,” he screams, muffled, into Seokmin’s bed sheets. </p><p>Seokmin watches him fondly. </p><p>“So you <em> have </em>seen my shows,” He laughs. His heart is climbing out of his chest, a soft and curious thing. </p><p>“Only when nothing else is on,” Chan shoots back. Even when he’s vulnerable, he manages to be sharp. “Don’t flatter yourself now. I still think Jeon Wonwoo is leagues ahead of you in the looks department.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t see Wonwoo-hyung in this bed anywhere,” Seokmin says churlishly. “So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the time being.” He coaxes Chan out from where he’s busy willing himself to expire, leaning back onto the headboard and yanking Chan by the wrist, so that the other boy falls onto Seokmin’s broad chest. The execution is far less smooth than he’d imagined it in his head, far less picturesque then he’s acted out in his movies. They end up knocking into one another, a mess of limb and laughter.  </p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Seokmin says, breathless, leaning his forehead against Chan’s, one hand going to his waist and the other to gently cradle the nape of his neck. </p><p>His fingers are warm and insistent. Keeping Chan there. He’s not sorry at all. </p><p>“You’re a brat,” Chan says, just as Seokmin murmurs, “I know,” and crooks a finger under Chan’s chin, tilting it up to kiss him long and deep, delightfully slow.</p><p>“Where do we go from here?” Chan says, soft, when Seokmin pulls back, interlacing their fingers. </p><p>“Anywhere you want us to.” Seokmin whispers back, smiling tenderly. He must look like a total goof. He feels absolutely giddy with the feeling. Like he could touch the sky. “Sounds good?”</p><p>“That sounds great,” Chan says honestly, smiling into another kiss. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank u for reading ;___; come find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/loveIees%22"> twitter</a> or <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/lovelees"> curiouscat</a>!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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